


I'm Not a Hero

by Zodiac



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: AU, Also probably body horror at that point too, Angst, Basically a lot of non-canon headcanons I came up with after ep. 67, Fucked-up gorey imagery at one point, Gore, M/M, Post episode 67/[Best of?], Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac/pseuds/Zodiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Carlos was originally from the reality where the world ended? What was his role in that reality and, more importantly, what is his role now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not a Hero

“ _I’m not a hero, I’m a scientist._ ”

It was something he had said without really thinking about it, an unconscious reaction to avoid being called a hero at all costs while he fought against the Smiling God… Against that horribly familiar light that destroyed whatever it touched. Yes, he had assisted in protecting Night Vale from that light, but Carlos the scientist saw himself as anything but a hero.

If Night Vale knew what atrocities he had committed before taking up residence in that wonderfully weird town, he would no-doubt be slaughtered rather than celebrated.

He was a scientist working for the United States government when the Cold War hit its peak. He had doubled as a physics professor at a university as a cover, but, when he wasn’t having office hours or grading his students’ work, he was spending his time in the bowels of a nondescript government building near the campus. There, tucked away from the prying eyes of the public with other scientists, he crafted fearsome hydrogen bombs with all the love and care a parent may provide to their child. He monitored the massive centrifuges that birthed the uranium, synthesized the hydrogenated fuel that would cause most of the blast, carefully encased it all in a metallic shell, and set aside the finished products until a truck driven by a man in a suit arrived and the bombs were taken away. He desperately needed the money to pay off his house and other such amenities. Besides, they wouldn’t let him just quit, not with how much he knew about the bombs.

He was protecting his country, they soothingly told him. The Soviets wouldn’t dare attack as long as bombs kept being produced, they comforted him.

He did the right thing, they said the day the missiles fell.

One chilly November day in 1983, alarms sounded, a cacophonous mixture of air raid sirens and monitoring equipment blaring out their warnings. Carlos and the scientists descended even further into the building, into the bunker at the very bottom that everyone hoped would never have to be utilized. There was a drill run in Europe, a guard explained to them, his eyes hurriedly skimming across a telegraph clutched claw-like in his hands. It was meant to simulate a nuclear attack so they would be prepared if an actual one were to head their way. Unfortunately, it triggered the very thing that they were preparing for as the Soviets mistook this drill for an actual nuclear assault and launched their missiles in retaliation. Carlos didn’t need the guard to tell him such; another scientist, Dave, was relaying even more important information from the flashing monitors set up within the bunker.

The missiles would hit within the next half hour. One was projected to strike nearby.

Above them, the world would soon be engulfed in nuclear fire and all they could do was watch the fluorescent green text of the monitors spell it out for them and regret the final job they held.

However, they didn’t have to regret for very long as a large shockwave rippling through the earth itself knocked them to the ground and the bunker was plunged into darkness as the monitors lost power. Then, the backup generator rumbled to life and the computers blinked back on, displaying one less missile on the radar. One by one, all the other green blips on the monitor followed suit, vanishing quickly as they hit their marks. Even after they had all disappeared, Carlos remained where he was, sitting with his legs splayed to either side, staring numbly up at the computers, blinking text reflecting off of his glasses.

He had taken part in this. He had aided in the calamity that ended the world.

He wasn’t sure how long his brain attempted to process that information, wasn’t sure how long they had spent in the bunker after it happened. The other scientists were just as shell-shocked as he was and whoever had stocked the bunker hadn’t bothered including a way to determine the time. All he knew was that it felt like years. They just ate and drank the minimum amount to stay alive, too swamped with guilt, regret, and shock to speak to one another. Eventually, when the food ran low, they finally spoke to one another and decided to don the radiation gear among the bunker’s supplies and return to the surface.

Looking around, the devastation began a ways from them. First, the buildings were merely scorched as though flames had brushed up against their surface, then crumbling as the foundations had melted from the assault, then they simply did not exist at all as they were closer to the crater at ground zero. The Geiger counter Carlos brought out with him made clicking noises, but indicating that there was a tolerable level of radiation at their current location, but it was likely a different story near where the missile hit.

They did not get close enough to find out.

Instead, they got into their cars—some in Carlos’, some in another scientist’s—and drove away from the crater. Once out of the city limits, they could at least pretend that everything was alright. There were no signs of destruction yet; though everything already seemed dead due to the time of year, it was... a natural dead look, nothing like the twisted trees and buildings warped beyond recognition by the sheer forces acting upon them in that blaze of light unleashed from the nuclear weapons.

It was a shame that the fallout from the nukes would eventually deaden this area for good.

They drove for a long time, switching off drivers when the current ones grew tired. There was no scenery on their route except the serene wilderness, no traces of nuclear attack. Eventually, the grass and trees made way for seemingly endless plains of sand with cacti and the rare desert shrub. They were hoping for some sign of civilization, but they knew rationally that there would most likely be only bare husks of it left over in the wake of the nuclear apocalypse.

Unbelievably, they found what they were looking for within that desert.

They had kept the car radios on, just in case they tuned into a signal someone was broadcasting. Besides, the static it made in the absence of one acted as pleasant white noise, providing a comforting constant to the scientists. But then, as though a switch had been pressed, the static suddenly ceased, a smooth, deep voice booming out of the radios in its place. Carlos, currently driving, nearly swerved off the road, both because the sudden voice startled him and a sign had appeared in his vision that he swore had not been there before.

As green as the text on the monitors that had proclaimed the world’s fate, there was a typical highway sign, proclaiming in white text, “Welcome to Night Vale.”

They pulled into the town and found that, while they were definitely stranger than the people they were used to, the citizens of Night Vale were very much alive. After questioning a few of them, it seemed as though they had no knowledge of any sort of nuclear strike, nor anything that they deemed unusual within the past few months (Though the scientists most definitely found their accounts of the “usual” things unusual.) After consulting with one another, they found that the best course of action would be to remain in Night Vale for at least a little while, recuperate in the presence of other people and sentient creatures. Besides, they were still scientists and, as such, were curious whether this community was a by-product of their nuclear weapons or just an oddity that had managed to remain under the scientific community’s radar.

That had been two years ago, two short years. Now, Carlos had been cut off from his team and was currently stuck in a desert otherworld. He had been here for months now, soothing his boyfriend, Cecil, with promises that he would look for a way back to Night Vale soon.

He had no intention of doing so, at least for the moment.

It had been simple to lie to Cecil; he had been doing it from the start, after all. Along with his true reason for coming to Night Vale, he had to hide certain things from his perky boyfriend to keep him from worrying. Like how he would occasionally have nightmares or horrifying daydreams of Cecil’s skin bubbling and melting in the light of a nuclear blast, liquefied flesh dripping off his frame to sizzle into oblivion as every atom of his being is slowly vaporized with a weapon of his own making. Every time he saw that unconvinced look in Cecil’s eyes when he told him that he was fine after experiencing a vision like that, he was reminded that just because something is simple, doesn’t mean it is easy to do.

But this lie… this was for more than his own sake. Across the desert, oozing out of the horizon was a terrible light, eliminating anything and anyone that happened to cross into its amorphous boundaries. Some called it a Smiling God. Others knew it as being the unraveling of all things. Carlos, as he narrowed his eyes at it, could call it his bastard child, but preferred the term “hydrogen bomb”.

He was no hero, but he was not about to allow that wave of radiant light he had created take away everything he held dear once again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and wanted to screech at me in a manner similar to socializing, then you can find my Tumblr right [here](http://catsandcomposers.tumblr.com/).


End file.
